


The Science of Sentiment

by macgyvershe



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Fluffy, For Science John, Fun, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-05-07
Updated: 2017-05-07
Packaged: 2018-10-29 05:51:17
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,186
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10847754
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/macgyvershe/pseuds/macgyvershe
Summary: Sherlock is very scientific. John experiences pop culture themes. Somehow it all comes together just fine.Twilight Zone, Star Wars and The Princess Bride are the pop culture references that Sherlock is accosted with. But you knew that right?





	The Science of Sentiment

**Author's Note:**

> Short, fluffy and fun.

John opened the fridge. Yelped ‘fuck’ then immediately closed the door sharply.

“It’s for science, John.” Sherlock said in his most seductive and sensual baritone. Then started humming, which with his voice sounded so much like a jaguar purring. If jaguars could purr; as everyone knows a land mammal that can roar can’t purr.

“What the hell, Sherlock? You promised to warn me if you were going to be subletting the fridge out to the Twilight Zone.”

“Twilight Zone?” Sherlock sounds totally clueless concerning the pop culture reference. “Tea, please, John.” Sherlock continues humming.

John ventures a look at his flatmate from the kitchen doorway; trying like hell to convey an evil eye. 

Sherlock is sitting back comfortably in his chair, rosining his bow. The cherub smile on his face is wickedly delicious.

“You did that on purpose, you twit!” John picks up the Union Jack pillow on his chair throwing it full force at Sherlock’s head.

Sherlock easily ducks the incoming pillow. “I think you should have some of the lavender/chamomile tea.” Standing he lifts his violin to his chin, turns to the windows, beginning John’s favorite piece ‘The Lark Ascending’. 

“No fair.” John whispers as he retreats into the kitchen putting the kettle on the hob as his body sways to the thrilling tones of the music. He pulls a new tin of Sherlock’s favorite tarts out of the cupboard. Then looks at the huge array of teas that are available for their sipping pleasure. There is a lavender/chamomile tin, so he pulls it down. Tea making ensues.

Bringing the tea and tarts to the sitting room. John has a moment of pure tenderness accompanied by heart stopping adoration. Playing John’s favorite music, Sherlock is standing in the morning light coming from the windows. He is a vision of unspeakable beauty. The lean lines of his body move sensually to the music as he caresses his instrument. {Shite,} John thinks {Even his imagination is getting horny.} Finally, the wonderful lavender/chamomile tea soothes and comforts John’s soul as he contemplates the wondrous life he leads.

Finishing, Sherlock sets his instrument down in its case and saunters over to his chair. Gracefully fitting himself into it, he takes up his tea and tart. Biting into the delicate food with all the aplomb of a honey badger.

“You are the most infuriating, insufferable, and unbelievably magnificent creature in all of creation.” John says with a winsome smile on his lips. “I could look at you forever.”

Sherlock preens a bit. Then stuffs another tart into his mouth. “Obviously.” He states with his mouth full. Smirking, his mouth making little joyful noises as the tart is devastated.

“John, do come and sit on my lap. I want to feed you one of these delectable tarts.”

“Are you propositioning me, Sherlock Holmes?” John isn’t sure if he should temp his fate.

Sherlock slits his exotic silver/grey/green/blue eyes. Eyes that dazzle and beguile John down to his very molecules.

Sherlock knows what he was doing. The scoundrel. “You are a scoundrel.” John said emphatically.

“You like this scoundrel.” Sherlock whispers seductively, his persuasive voice electrifying John to his core.

John cracks up. Laughing at the inadvertent pop cultural reference that surly Sherlock has no clue about. Laughing till tears rolled down his cheeks and he can barely breathe.

Sherlock looks terribly affronted. Taking a deep cleansing breath he says. “There was nothing humorous about my statement.” He huffs. Then makes as if to stand to leave John to his grins and giggles.

He is stopped from leaving by the application of laughing John directly onto his lap. Wiping away tears, attempting to breathe more normally.

Tilling his head to view John from a different angle. “I said something pertaining to your murder mysteries or science fiction addiction.” He surmises. “You can laugh, but you are exactly where I wanted you. So I don’t think we are at cross purposes here.”

John brings his forehead to Sherlock’s. “The view is even more magnificent from here.” John says while smiling with unbridled love and tremendous amounts of growing lust in his eyes.

“I think we can work with that.” Sherlock stands, catching John before he falls. Sherlock positions John in a fireman’s carry as he starts toward their bedroom with all the grace and elegance of a honey bear in the throes of a hormonal high.

John has learned not to struggle when in the grip of a Holmes in heat.

(-_-)

“Just when I think it can’t get any more bizarre, tantalizing and mindblowingly satisfying, you, my dear Sherlock Holmes turn my world upside down and inside out.” John states as he lays in a completely satiated and liquefied mass on top of his favorite sexy beast, partner in crime and genius extraordinaire.

“Indubitably, though upside down and inside out will have to actually wait for another time.” Sherlock says as those exotic eyes flutter in bemused beatific contentment. Cheekbones flushed with orgasmic bloom. He, too, is pretty damned relaxed. 

“How did I get so lucky?” John asks no one.

“Luck, John? Random action is by no means in any way involved with us. To speak truth, my world view, my life were all transformed when you walked into that room I existed in at Bart’s.” 

“Is that why you get so frisky every time we go into the lab? I thought it was the smell of formaldehyde and chlorine that turned you on?” John says sarcastically.

Sherlock rolls over on top of John. Pinning him to their bed. He then nestles into a comfortable co-mingling of bodies and limbs. “I never knew what contentment was, never experienced the perception of love, always thought that happiness was something beyond my capacity to illicit.”

John’s heart aches at those words. {How can anyone as brilliant and incandescent as Sherlock have been be so lost and alone before he met me?} John thinks. 

John kisses that perfect mouth and runs his fingers through the mass of dark curls that always begs for his caresses. “Never again. You’re going to know more happiness than you’ve ever thought possible; a Mobius Strip of Love.” John states unquestionably.

“Was that a scientifically based sentiment?” Sherlock looks aghast at his lover, his family, his John. “You never cease to overwhelm my senses.” Sherlock admits as he comes in to devour John’s mouth.

John makes Sherlock feel safe, secure and scientifically sentimental. 

{What can he leave in the fridge next time to illicit that wonderfully amazed shock, that leads to the equally amazing sex, that leads to the...it really is a Mobius Strip of Love,} Sherlock thinks. He is experiencing a heightened sense of scientifically satisfying sex. Unbelievable. Sherlock smiles in a way that he’s never smiled before.

John sees that smile and rolls them over so he is on top. “As you wish.” John says with clear intent.

“I know that one!” Sherlock is ecstatic with the knowledge of what John means. Which, of course, is lost in the hot, home made sex that John delivers on time, every time.


End file.
